


how big your heart can get (with a little water and sunshine)

by abovetheruins



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: 4+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Slow Burn, shyanexchange2k19, shyanwritingevents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-07-25 21:29:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20032654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: In which Ryan deals with a new neighbor, nosy employees who care a little too much about his love life, and flowers. Lots and lots of flowers.





	1. lavender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Likeabook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likeabook/gifts).

> I’m neither a tattoo artist nor a florist; most of my information came [from](https://www.interflora.co.za/all-about-flowers/meaning-and-symbolism-of-flowers) [these](https://www.albuquerqueflorist.com/info/flower-meanings/) [sites](https://www.goodhousekeeping.com/home/gardening/g2503/surprising-flower-meanings) [here](https://thoughtfultattoos.com/tattoo-process-explained-step-by-step).

“You know what this place needs?”

“What?” Ryan murmurs distractedly, barely glancing up from the appointment book. Jen’s got her elbows perched on the counter, morning sunlight blazing through her dark hair and a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

“Flowers,” she chirps, tapping a black-painted nail on the counter. “That’s what.”

Ryan huffs, half in amusement and half in exasperation. “Flowers, huh?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. Having just opened, the parlor’s quiet for now, just the familiar rustle of pages as he checks through the log for his appointments and the clatter of inks as Eugene readies his workstation for the day breaking the silence. “And where did you get that idea?”

“I mean, a splash of color never hurt anybody,” Jen says cheerily, tilting her head towards him. “Besides, it’d be a nice gesture on your part. You know, neighborly.”

“Uh huh,” Ryan hums, unconvinced.

“You know I’m right,” she counters, chin perched on the curl of her fist. “It’s been what, a week? Have you even introduced yourself yet?” At Ryan’s blank look, she tsks like a mother scolding a particularly stubborn child. “Really, Ryan? Mama Bergara would be ashamed.”

“That’s a little much – “ Ryan starts, though he quickly changes track when Jen narrows her eyes in a pointed glare. “Alright, alright, fuck. I’ll do it today, after work. Happy?”

Jen grins. “Very.”

And she looks it, though in a decidedly impish way. Ryan huffs.

“I know what you’re doing, you know,” he says, unimpressed.

“I would hope so, Boss,” Jen hums. “I’m not exactly being subtle here.”

Ryan opens his mouth to reply, but he’s interrupted by the ring of the bell above the door. Andrew slips inside with a drink carrier laden down with four steaming cups in one hand and a box of donuts in the other, and Ryan practically moans at the sight.

“Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite employee?” he asks, taking his coffee and a maple donut with a grateful sigh.

“Is that all it takes, Bergara?” Eugene asks, rising from his chair to snag a raspberry-filled donut for himself. “And you call _me_ easy.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jen interrupts, reaching for a chocolate-glazed monstrosity slathered with sprinkles. “No antagonizing the boss this early in the morning. Not until after I’ve had my breakfast, please and thank you. And thank _you_, Andrew. You’re the best.”

Andrew dips his head in acknowledgement. “You’re welcome, Jen,” he says, his lips twitching as Ryan and Eugene mumble their own thanks, abashed. “Ran into your new neighbor at the café,” he tells Ryan, moving to stow the box with the remaining donuts on the front counter.

“You saw Shane?” Jen asks, perking up. She heads to the window, munching on her breakfast as she goes. “Wonder if he’s on his way back.”

“If your face pressed against the glass is the first thing he sees, you’re gonna scare him off,” Eugene teases, laughing softly as Jen extends her middle finger in his direction.

“I said I’d go see him after work,” Ryan complains around a mouthful of sugary sweetness, joining Jen at the window and peering outside. The streets are still quiet and relatively bare this early in the morning, save for a pair of dogwalkers and a jogger pounding the pavement. Ryan wipes the crumbs on his fingers off on his jeans and shoots Jen a look. “Stop scheming.”

“I’m not scheming,” Jen protests. “I’m… fostering a sense of community by welcoming Shane to the neighborhood.”

“You pulled that straight out of your ass,” Ryan says, impressed despite himself. Jen’s only response is to stick her tongue out at him before her attention is captured by something – someone – outside. Ryan knows who it’ll be before he turns his head, and sure enough, there’s his neighbor, striding down the street with his phone cradled to his ear and a hot drink in hand. He’s tall, almost absurdly so, with a shock of messy brown hair and a smattering of stubble along his jaw.

“Why don’t you ask him out for drinks?” Eugene pipes up, tapping on the glass – since when had he joined them? – and inclining his head toward Shane.

“I already did.” They all turn their heads to stare at Andrew, sitting at his station and sipping from his coffee with a patient look on his face.

“What’d he say?” Jen asks excitedly, and Andrew huffs a soft laugh.

“Said it sounded like fun. I told him Ryan would fill him in on the details.”

“Of course you did,” Ryan sighs, rolling his eyes and turning back to the window –

Just in time to catch Shane staring bemusedly back at them.

“Oh shit, scatter!” Jen whispers, though she makes no move to do so. None of them do. Granted, there’s not much they can do to recover when they’ve all been caught with their faces glued to the glass.

To his credit, Shane doesn’t seem perturbed by their presence. He raises a hand and waves, his face open and friendly, and Ryan’s hand is inching into the air before he can stop himself. He catches Jen’s smirk and forces his hand back to his side, “What?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” She claps him on the shoulder and saunters away from the window, her voice trailing teasingly behind her: “He’s pretty cute, huh?”

Shane flips the sign on his door to _Open_ and slips inside, but not before he shoots one last smile at Ryan, eyes crinkling behind his clear-framed glasses. He _is_ kind of cute, Ryan finds himself thinking, before Jen’s words register in his brain and he scoffs, turning away from the window with an exasperated, "Jen, don’t start."

"I’m just saying,” she presses, even as she slips into her chair and starts fiddling with her inks. “It’s not every day an opportunity like this lands in your lap. Think the universe might be giving you a little nudge here, Bergara.”

Eugene snorts. “The universe has got nothing to do with it,” he says. “You’re just trying to unload Ryan on the newbie so he’ll stop spending his weekends cockblocking _you_, which, to be clear, I totally respect.”

“I’m not cockblocking anybody,” Ryan scoffs, though he can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt at the somewhat blatant lie. Since his last break up he kind of has been monopolizing his friends’ time, not that Jen or Andrew or any of the others have called him out on it. Well, until now, obviously.

“When was the last time you went on a date?” Eugene asks, one slim brow raised. “Or got laid? Or hell, got a person’s number?”

Ryan opens his mouth, thinks for a moment, and then closes it. Eugene hums, like he thought as much.

“So I’m going through a dry spell,” Ryan mutters. “Big deal. Doesn’t mean I have to throw myself at the neighbor.”

“The _cute_ neighbor,” Jen pipes up, grinning sunnily when Ryan shoots her a look.

He doesn’t bother protesting, though. There’s not much use in it, not with all three of his employees banding together and rallying against him. Ryan might as well resign himself to a night of awkward matchmaking now, if he knows them half as well as he thinks he does.

Oh well. It’s a small price to pay to get them off his back, and who knows – maybe he and Shane will get along great and he’ll have made a new friend out of the venture. It’s worth a fucking shot.

*

It’s a little after six when Ryan steps into the flower shop, the bell atop the door signaling his arrival with a merry chime. Andrew and Eugene have already left, but Jen idles outside until the door swings shut behind him, like she can’t trust him to keep his word unless she’s there to make sure he does. Ryan sticks his tongue out at her through the window and she blows him a kiss back, mouthing _good luck!_ before she finally leaves.

“This is your chance to get off on the right foot," she'd said earlier, clasping him on the shoulder and pushing him toward the shop with a grin. "So don't blow it! Be neighborly!"

“Be neighborly, my ass,” Ryan grumbles, peering curiously around the empty shop. It’s cheery inside, the walls painted a neutral yellow and covered in shelving, vases, pots, and planters of all sizes. The rest of the shop is filled with a variety of stands, racks, and tables loaded down with flowers, plants, and the tools to care for them, with glass door refrigerators housed in the back and cards and gift packaging in the front.

There’s a sweet, earthy smell in the air, strong but not cloying, the faint hum of the air con the only sound in the shop aside from Ryan’s own soft breaths. It’s strangely soothing, being surrounded by plants and flowers of various hues and shapes and sizes, some breeds he recognizes but others completely alien to him. He’s taking a step toward a display of colorful gladiolus, wondering faintly if they’d look good in the shop and if he could even keep them alive long enough to justify buying them when there’s a thud and a curious _mew_ from behind him.

Startled, Ryan twists around and jerks backward at the sight of two large, dark eyes nestled in a furry orange face, peering curiously up at him from among a table of carnations.

A cat, he realizes, one hand pressed to his chest, feeling the thud of his heart pounding against his palm. Just a cat.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, taking a cautious step towards it. He refrains from reaching out, not relishing the idea of getting fur all over his hands and sneezing for the rest of the night, but he does gentle his voice and bend down to offer an awkward, “Hey there, little guy,” to the curious feline.

"I see you’ve met Obi."

Ryan jumps, brows scrunching as a warm burst of laughter spills from the doorway behind the front counter – a doorway through which his neighbor ducks, clad in a dirty apron and thick gardening gloves and wearing an impish grin on his long, scruffy face. "Dude."

"Sorry, sorry," Shane chuckles, though he sounds anything but. He regards Ryan with a little tilt of his head, and Ryan tries not to fidget self-consciously in his t-shirt and ripped jeans. “You must be Ryan.”

“Uh, yeah.” Ryan holds out a hand, echoes of Jen’s voice chirping _Be neighborly!_ in his ear. “How’d you guess?”

Shane grins, reaching out to take his hand and pump it twice. “I've met Jen and Eugene already. That makes you the only lookie loo I haven't been introduced to yet."

Ryan coughs, recalling the amused expression on Shane's face when he'd caught the three of them with their noses pressed to the window. He rubs idly at a spot of dirt on his hand left behind by Shane’s gardening glove and mutters, "Sorry about that, man, we were just - "

"Scoping out the new neighbor," Shane interjects, a teasing lilt to his voice. "I figured. Hope I didn't disappoint."

"No, no, of course not," Ryan fumbles, annoyed by the warmth in his cheeks and glad that his skin tone doesn't show it too easily. "I wanted to come by earlier, I just got caught up with work.” It's a half-truth mixed with a lame excuse, but he's not about to tell Shane that half the reason he'd put off introducing himself was because his employees would use it as ammo in their matchmaking schemes.

Shane waves his apology off with an easy smile. "It's alright, man, really. I kept meaning to introduce myself too, but y’know." He waves a gloved hand, encompassing the space of the shop. "Getting this baby off the ground kept me pretty preoccupied. This might actually be the first time since opening day that I haven't panic-sweat through my clothes by closing time. Lucky you."

The quip startles a laugh out of Ryan. “Yeah, yeah, I get you.” He remembers the first few weeks – the first few months, really – after he’d opened the parlor, how much stress and anxiety had plagued him over the future of the place and how desperate he’d been to make it a success. “If you ever need help, or like… a drink? Or two?“ He waves a hand toward the wall separating Shane’s building from his. “All you gotta do is ask.”

“Andrew _did_ mention something about drinks,” Shane muses, stroking his stubbled chin thoughtfully before making a face at the dirt caked on his gloves and working them off of his hands. The cat – Obi, apparently? – seems to take that as his cue to sidle up to Shane’s side and tilt his head for pets, which Shane delivers with a smile that slides right past affectionate into pure soppy contentment as Obi immediately begins to purr.

Ryan huffs a laugh at the display, a little endeared despite himself. “It’s no wonder you and Andrew hit it off,” he says lightly.

Shane quirks an eyebrow. “Not a cat person, I take it?”

“Don’t really have a choice in the matter,” Ryan offers with an apologetic shrug. “I’m allergic.”

Shane’s eyes widen, his expression momentarily so crestfallen that Ryan almost laughs again. “Oh, shit. I can take him upstairs if he’s bothering you – “

“Dude, it’s fine. I won’t break out into hives just from being in the same room. It’s the fur I’ve gotta watch out for. As long as I chill over here, I’m good.”

“If you’re sure… “ Shane murmurs, patting Obi once on the head before softly coaxing him off the table. “He doesn’t like to be cooped up in the apartment and the customers seem to get a kick out of him so I’ve kind of given him free reign.”

“I can see that,” Ryan teases, chuckling at the amused resignation on Shane’s face. “I’m the same way with my dogs. If they didn’t spend most of the time at my parent’s place, I’d be letting them run amok in the parlor.”

“I bet that’d be great for business,” Shane muses with a goofy grin. “Excitable pups plus needles in close proximity to delicate skin? Fun times, babey.”

“God no,” Ryan groans, slumping in abject horror against a table of brightly colored succulents at his back. “Most of my clients wouldn’t give a shit but the newbies are nervous enough.”

“_Needles in close proximity to delicate skin_,” Shane repeats, as if that explains it.

“It’s really not that bad. People tend to make it worse when they overthink the process.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Shane agrees, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. With Ryan stooped he seems even taller, an amalgamation of long limbs topped with floppy hair. “You’ve got some horror stories, I take it?”

Ryan gives an exaggerated shudder. “Oh yeah. There’s a reason I send most of our first-timers to Andrew. He’s chill enough to calm ‘em down, usually.”

“Hmm.” Shane strokes his chin in thought, eyes roaming around the interior of the shop. “You know, I might have something that can help with that.”

“Oh yeah?”

Shane hums an affirmative, plucking a pot from a nearby stand. It’s brimming with sprigs of spiky violet flowers, and a faint sweet scent emanates from the petals as Shane passes it along to Ryan.

“Lavender,” he explains, gesturing with a wide palm at the simple bouquet. “Good for soothing stress and anxiety. Might come in handy with those nervous clients of yours.”

“Thanks, man,” Ryan says, genuinely touched by the gesture. He already knows the perfect spot for it, too. He cradles the pot in one arm and reaches into his pocket for his wallet. “Here, let me – “

Shane holds up his hands. “Nah, it’s on the house. Neighbor to neighbor.”

Ryan grins. “Does that mean I owe you a tattoo?” he asks, only half-serious, and Shane barks a laugh.

“Hate to break it to ya, Ryan, but I’m what they call ‘a major fucking weenie’ when it comes to pain. Not a lot of great client potential here, I’m afraid.”

“Eh,” Ryan scoffs, giving Shane a casual shrug. “I’ve dealt with worse, believe me. Besides, I’ve been at this a while. Can’t say I can make it painless, but I bet you’d get a taste for it, if you gave me a try.” He realizes how that sounds a second after it leaves his mouth, and knows that Shane does, too, if the mischievous twinkle in his eyes is anything to go by.

“I might hold you to that one day,” Shane says, letting the comment slide for now, and Ryan breathes out a laugh, half-exasperated and half-relieved.

He leaves Shane to the task of closing up shop after they work out the particulars of grabbing drinks with Jen and the others, and by the time he’s climbing the stairs to his little apartment situated over the parlor, he’s smiling in a way that he’s glad Jen and Eugene can’t see. Shane’s an interesting guy, funny and acerbic in a way that Ryan knows he can mesh well with, and the thought of getting to know him more, kindling some kind of friendship, is an exciting one. He’s looking forward to those drinks, even if he has to deal with a certain pack of nosey employees with far too much time on their hands and a disturbingly vested interest in his love life.

All of whom give him silent, knowing looks the next morning as he places the lavender on the front counter, so that its vibrant violet petals are the first thing his clients see when they enter the parlor. Ryan merely smiles and flips them all the bird before getting to work.


	2. jasmine

“What about this one?” Shane gestures to the moth emblazoned on Ryan’s right forearm, the stark lines of its body and spread wings dark against his bronze skin.

“An homage to my favorite cryptid,” Ryan explains, thumbing at the curve of the moth’s wing. The bar’s not that crowded, the low roar of the other patrons doing little to muffle their voices, and yet Ryan finds himself leaning closer, anyway. Shane smells like soil and beer and the faintest trace of some woodsy cologne, unusual but pleasing nonetheless, and Ryan spares a moment to wonder if the scent of ink and disinfectant that usually clings to his own skin after a full day at the shop is noticeable or not.

He had met Shane outside the flower shop earlier in the night, alone thanks to Jen and Eugene and Andrew going ahead to the bar to grab a table for them all, a task that hardly required the joint effort of all three of them, and yet Ryan had been ignored when he’d pointed that out. He’d been grateful when Shane had emerged from the shop with a tall, pale-haired man in tow, introducing him as Steven, his newest hire, and asking if it’d be okay if he joined them.

Steven runs a popular food blog on the side, apparently, and within a few moments of meeting he and Andrew are already off in their own little world, discussing the best restaurants in the city and the hidden gems they’ve discovered along the way. Ryan has a feeling they’ll be seeing a lot more of the guy around after tonight, based on Andrew’s grin alone, and a lot more of Shane, too, simply from how easily he seems to mesh with their little group.

“Mothman, huh?” Shane asks, and to his credit, he doesn’t even look surprised. Granted, they’d already gotten embroiled in a heated discussion about the supernatural – the little ghost tattooed on Ryan’s left wrist could be thanked for that – that had only ended when Jen had pleaded with them to give it a rest.

“If you start talking about true crime articles again, I’m cutting you off,” she’d threatened, and Ryan had quickly clammed up with a guilty flush.

“I’m a Bigfoot fan myself,” Shane continues with an exaggerated sniff, cradling his chin in the palm of his hand and peering through crinkled eyes at Ryan. “Not enough to get him stamped on my ass or anything, but – “

Ryan snorts into his beer, reaching blindly for a napkin to mop the resulting mess from his face. “Jesus Christ, dude,” he coughs, voice tinged with startled laughter.

Shane’s lips curl into a tiny, cat-like grin. “What? You can’t tell me someone hasn’t done it before.”

“Not in my parlor, they haven’t,” Ryan returns, making a face. “I’m as accommodating to my clients’ needs as the next guy, but drunk tats and ass tats are right out.”

“Damn,” Shane sighs. “There goes my plans for the rest of the night.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, buddy,” Ryan chuckles, giving Shane’s shoulder a consoling pat. “I’m all for indulging in my clients’ requests, but even I have my limits.”

Shane takes a swig of his beer, nodding along. “Noted. Guess I’ll shelve those dreams for another day.” He reaches over and taps the tips of his fingers against Ryan’s right wrist, where four colorful pawprints meander up the smooth skin of his inner forearm. “What about these then? Any meaning there?”

“About what you’d expect, probably,” Ryan laughs, stowing his sweating beer on the table beside Shane’s and drawing a finger along the curve of one paw. “Two for the dogs I have now,” he says, tapping the top two, “and two for a pair I had as a kid.” He taps the pawprints closest to his wrist.

“Cute,” Shane decrees, and he genuinely seems to mean it. “They must mean a lot to you.”

Ryan shrugs easily. “Sure, but I could have chosen something else for a completely different reason. Or for no reason at all. There doesn’t always have to be some grand, deeper meaning behind every tattoo. They can be planned, or impulsive, or done purely for the aesthetic, or to celebrate some milestone, or just for the hell of it. Most of the time all it takes is a person liking something enough to want a permanent reminder on their skin.”

Shane grins, tipping his beer in a sloppy salute. “Like Bigfoot?”

Ryan snorts, but concedes, “Like Bigfoot,” and clinks his bottle against Shane’s. He catches Jen’s eye after he drains the dregs, her lips tilted in a smile that does more to make him flush than any of her good-natured teasing or the alcohol coursing through his system ever could. She doesn’t say a word, just flicks her eyes between him and Shane and quirks her eyebrows. Ryan purses his lips.

He waits until Shane is distracted, drawn into conversation with Andrew and Steven about the best local dives in town, and squints at her. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” she hums, a cherubic expression on her face that Ryan doesn’t buy for a single goddamn second. “It’s just nice to see you having fun, that’s all.”

“You’ve got that look on your face,” he accuses, idly twirling his beer cap between his fingers.

Jen tilts her head and widens her eyes. “What look?”

“That look you get when you think your schemes are working. They’re not, by the way, so cut that shit out.”

Jen steeples her chin on her folded hands and smiles beatifically, her black nails gleaming in the overhead lights. “Whatever you say, Ryan,” she says, eyes dancing. “Whatever you say.”

Ryan scoffs, rising from the table in search of another round rather than attempting to argue. It’s not a retreat, he assures himself; it’s more like… a temporary surrender.

The whole table erupts in cheers when he gets back, Shane shooting him a grateful smile when Ryan hands off his beer last and slips back into his seat.

“Hey, I missed one,” he remarks, setting his beer down and reaching for Ryan’s right hand. He squints down at the characters emblazoned on his middle finger, leading down to the tiny black and white crown at the base, and murmurs curiously, “Huh, and what does this mean, I wonder.”

They haven’t been drinking much, but Shane’s eyes have started to take on the slight glaze of the delightfully tipsy, and Ryan chuckles as he spreads out his fingers, explaining, “It’s my name. Well, the meaning of my name.” At Shane’s raised brow, Ryan clarifies, “Ryan means ‘little king.’” He drags a finger down the four characters trailing from just beneath his nail to his second knuckle. “_Chiisai _means little, and then the crown… ”

“Self-explanatory,” Shane finishes, lips quirking into a smile. He studies Ryan for a moment, eyes flicking across his face, and says, “It suits you.”

“What, king?”

Shane purses his lips, clearly holding back a laugh. “… Sure.”

“_Hey_,” Ryan laughs, giving Shane a playful shove. “We can’t all be fucking giants, okay.”

“Clearly not, _little king_,” Shane teases, pushing back at Ryan’s shoulder with one of his giant ass hands. Ryan almost wants to snatch it up and press their palms together, see how his compares next to Shane’s.

But then he glances at Jen, watches her mouth the words _You like him_ with her lips curled in a teasing grin, and reigns in the urge.

He’s not about to give her the satisfaction of being _right_.

*

Jen might be a little misguided about Shane, but she’s definitely right about one thing: Ryan should probably cool it with the true crime articles and paranormal subreddits before bed. It’s his own fault, really. He knows how this shit affects him, the night terrors it can cause, and yet he still happily indulges in hours of research anyway, falling into one rabbit hole after another until he’s so keyed up over the stories and testimonials and eyewitness accounts he’s consumed that he can barely sleep for it, and whatever rest he does get is riddled with nightmares.

Peering into his bathroom mirror at half past six, tracing the tired lines on his face and the shadows beneath his eyes, he can already hear Jen berating him for his unhealthy habits, her face a concentrated mix of exasperation and concern, the perfect cocktail to make Ryan feel even more like shit.

He sighs, ducking down to splash some cold water on his face, when he hears a faint sound coming from his bedroom. He freezes, cocking an ear to the side. Is that… music?

“The hell… ?” he mumbles, grabbing for a towel to pat his face dry as he returns to his bedroom. He pauses in the threshold to take in the noise, still muffled but not as faint now that he’s apparently nearing its source.

It’s music, alright. Well, singing. It’s soft, too low for Ryan to pick out any lyrics until he drifts closer to his bed and presses his ear curiously against the wall just over the headboard.

_Mamma mia, here I go again. My my, how can I resist you?_

Huh.

It’s gotta be Shane. Couldn’t be anyone else, judging by the voice. Ryan imagines him going about his morning routine, brushing his teeth and slipping into his apron and feeding Obi, all while crooning softly in that voice of his, warm and a little raspy with sleep. It’s a nice image, endearing. Cute, even.

Ryan shakes his head, stuffing his feet into sneakers and running a hand through his messy hair. It’s one thing to find his neighbor attractive, but it’s something else entirely to be melting at the sound of his voice drifting through the walls. _Get a grip, Bergara_.

It’s a little too early to open up shop, but Ryan grabs for his keys and locks up the apartment anyway, breathing in a lungful of crisp morning air as he makes his way down the street. _Curly’s_ will be open by now, and he could use a dose or two of caffeine to prepare him for the day ahead.

Curly takes one look at his face and tuts, waving Ryan in the direction of his favorite seat by the window before Ryan can even open his mouth to order. There’s only a handful of other patrons in this early, but the low hum of their chatter and the faint chime of cutlery makes for a soothing cacophony as Ryan slumps into a seat.

He texts Jen while he waits: _Up early. Coffee’s on me_, and then rests his chin on his fist and closes his eyes, gratefully soaking up the warm rays of the morning sun spilling through the window. He mentally goes over his appointments for the day, a tried and true method to distract his mind from his dreams, and it works, for the most part. His dreams had been nebulous and strange, anyway, leaving him more with the impression of horror than any true memory of it. Nothing a heavy dose of caffeine and the blinding light of day can’t (hopefully) fix.

“Long night, carin͂o?” Curly asks, his arrival heralded by the scent of strong coffee and the sweetness of pastry dough from whatever culinary delights he and Rie have been whipping up this morning. Ryan opens his eyes, immediately comforted by the sight of a steaming mug being deposited onto his table, and curls his hands gratefully around its warmth.

“Something like that,” he mutters, taking a sip and sighing as the heat slips down his throat and into his belly, warming him the whole way through. He makes to reach into his pocket for his wallet but Curly waves him off.

“It’s on the house,” he says, pursing his lips and reaching over to ruffle Ryan’s messy hair into some semblance of order. “Take it easy today, huh?”

Ryan nods, lips tilting into a grateful smile. “I will. Thanks, man.”

“Mm,” Curly hums, before the chime of the bell over the door catches his attention and he drifts back to the front counter to take care of the newcomer. Ryan turns back to the window, watching the street outside slowly coming to life, and takes another sip of his coffee.

“Fancy meeting you here,” a voice chirps, just before Ryan picks out the familiar woodsy spice of Shane’s cologne. He glances up – and up – and sure enough, there’s Shane, dressed in a blue button-down and beige chinos and holding his own gently steaming mug. He gestures at the empty seat at Ryan’s table. “Would you mind?”

“Go ahead,” Ryan tells him, fingers curling around his own mug as Shane settles across from him. Shane looks good, well-rested if a little sleepy-eyed, his hair pushed back and glasses switched out for contacts. Ryan feels more than a little self-conscious with his messy hair and tired eyes, but Shane’s warm smile goes a long way toward setting him at ease.

“Never took you for an early bird,” Shane muses, sipping at his drink.

Ryan huffs a faint laugh. “Yeah, I’m not? Usually? Just had a bit of a long night.”

Shane tilts his head. A stray strand of hair spills over his brow. “Everything okay?”

Ryan nods, a little embarrassed, but seeing no reason not to be truthful. “Yeah, just – bad dreams, you know?” He waves a hand, deliberately nonchalant. “It’s no big deal.”

Shane leans back in his seat, crossing one long leg over the over. It’s a little distracting, if Ryan’s being perfectly honest with himself. “You want to talk about it?” Shane asks. “Might help.”

Ryan shrugs. “It’s really nothing. Read a few too many ghost stories last night, I guess.”

“Ah.” Shane nods understandably. “That’ll do it, then.” He peers at Ryan’s face, studying him silently over the rim of his mug. Ryan expects to feel nervous beneath the stare, or maybe a little uncomfortable with the attention, but there’s no judgement in Shane’s gaze, just curiosity, and maybe a little concern. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m okay, Shane,” he assures, lips twitching into a smile. “This helps,” he adds, tilting his coffee in Shane’s direction and grinning when Shane clinks their mugs together in the same way they’d clinked bottles the other night.

“Amen to that,” Shane sighs, taking a long, pointed gulp. “I’ve decided in all of my infinite wisdom to open up a floral workshop on Friday nights, so uh, I’ll be needing all of the energy I can get.”

Ryan whistles lowly, leaning back in his chair. “Brave man,” he says, and grins as Shane dips his shoulders in an exaggerated bow. “What brought that on?”

“Figured it would generate some interest in the shop, you know? Teach people how to build their own bouquets, make a few flower crowns, spread some knowledge around. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Sounds like fun,” Ryan says, and it does. His knowledge about flowers extends to what kinds are most commonly chosen to be inked onto skin, but not far beyond. It wouldn’t hurt to learn more.

Shane’s lips quirk into a pleased grin, his eyes honey-brown and warm in the morning sun. “Yeah? Feel free to stop by if you ever want to check it out, then. Or I could just give you a little one on one lesson.” He winks. “Free of charge, of course.”

Ryan laughs, blaming the warmth in his face on the sun shining through the window. “Only if you stop by the shop and watch one of us in action. Get a feel for what getting a tattoo involves.”

Shane lifts an eyebrow, amused. “You’re determined to wear me down on that one, aren’t you?”

Ryan grins. “Nah, not if you’re really against the idea. If you ever get curious enough, though… “

“I know where to find you,” Shane finishes, smiling. It’s a nice smile, warm and friendly, and Ryan finds himself smiling helplessly back. It’s a nice change from how he’d started the morning, restless and drained from a night of little sleep, and by the time they finish their drinks and head back toward their shops together, there’s a pep in his step that can’t be blamed entirely on Curly’s coffee.

His surge of energy carries him through most of the day, thankfully, so that by the time he’s finishing up with his last appointment, a brilliant purple orchid trailing over a woman’s shoulder that he can’t help but wish Shane could be around to see, the dread that he had woken up with is nothing but a faint, distasteful memory. He’s exhausted as hell, but it’s a good exhaustion, the result of a long day of work rather than a night full of terrors.

Despite his fatigue, it’s late by the time he finally decides to head upstairs, his shoulders a little stiff from spending a couple of hours sketching out a design for a client coming in a little later in the week. He stretches his arms over his head and groans softly as his muscles protest, sore from holding their hunched position for so long, and quietly sets about stowing his supplies away and grabbing for his keys.

He nearly stumbles over something after he opens the door, a startled curse slipping free before he’s able to right himself and glance down to see what had tripped him up.

It’s a short glass vase filled with ivory-colored flowers, their centers like tiny yellow suns and their sprawling leaves a soft shade of jade. A rich, sweet fragrance emits from them, noticeable even before Ryan ducks down to lift the vase, and he tucks his nose into the blossoms in a fit of whimsy, breathing in the scent.

There’s a little card hooked over the lip of the vase. Ryan wiggles it free and flips it open to see words scrawled in an unfamiliar hand: _Jasmine. Smells great and promotes a better night’s sleep. Thought it might help_. It’s signed with an _S_, and warmth floods Ryan’s chest as he glances over at Shane’s shop, the windows long since dark, and up at the apartment above where one window glows faintly with light.

He sets the vase on his bedside table, its petals gleaming in the darkness when he switches off the light and slips into bed. They’re little more than fuzzy white blobs with his contacts out, but Ryan watches the moonlight spill over them until his eyes grow too heavy to hold open anymore.

He sleeps.


	3. aloe vera

Ryan wakes Sunday morning to golden sunlight spilling through the cracks in his blinds and the faint sound of Shane’s singing drifting through the wall. He blinks sleepily, warm and pliant in the cradle of sun-drenched bedsheets, the low lilt of Shane's voice washing over him. Shane’s been on a Disney kick lately, and Ryan huffs a sleepy laugh as he picks out the familiar cadence of _I Just Can’t Wait to be King_, languidly nodding along to Shane’s sleep-gruff voice rumbling around the lyrics _I’m brushing up on looking down, I’m working on my roar_.

Shane’s still singing when Ryan finally manages to drag himself out of bed, clumsily pawing for his glasses on the nightstand and slipping them on as he pads to the bathroom. He’s not even aware he’s smiling until he glances in the bathroom mirror and catches his lips twitching, and though it’s enough to make him roll his eyes at himself, he can’t deny that it’s a nice way to wake up.

Riding the wave of his good mood, he decides to cook breakfast for once instead of going to _Curly’s_ or defaulting to a protein shake. By the time he’s finished a simple plate of scrambled eggs and toast, the sun has risen into a brilliantly blue sky and he has no intention of wasting the day away inside his apartment.

He reaches for his phone. Shane’s voice has long faded, but the faint hum of noise from his apartment reassures Ryan that he hasn’t left yet. He thumbs open his messages and quickly locates Shane’s name in his inbox, firing off a quick text – _You busy today?_ – while he digs into his meal, propped up against the kitchen counter with his bare toes curling against the tile.

He chews on a mouthful of eggs while he waits for Shane’s reply, and nearly spits it out around a laugh when Shane sends him a photo on Snapchat instead.

It’s a shot taken from above, showing Shane sprawled on his couch with Obi curled up on his lap, his long legs stretched across the cushions and clad in alien-patterned pajama pants. _You tell me_ is scribbled across the middle in bright yellow font.

Ryan shakes his head, huffing an exasperated laugh as he brings up his text messages. He also might have saved the pic, for reasons he chooses not to identify just yet. _Gonna hit the beach. Wanna come?_

Shane’s answer comes in the form of another photo, similar to the first except for the hastily scribbled sunglasses nestled over his and Obi’s faces, _Beach boys, baby!_ scrawled across the bottom in that same obnoxiously bright font.

Ryan barks a laugh, tells Shane he can be ready in ten, and heads to the linen closet to grab a towel.

*

“You look like a dad at a theme park.”

Shane peers at him from underneath the wide brim of his hat, sunglasses perched low on his nose. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Bergara,” he says, the solemnity of his voice belied by the quirk of his lips. “So keep your mits off the goods.”

Ryan snorts, the warmth of the sun’s rays spilling over his chest and throat as he tilts his head back. “Don’t think I could pull off that look anyway, dude,” he says, eyeing Shane’s getup over the rims of his sunglasses. Lime green swim shorts, a Hawaiian shirt with its buttons undone and splayed open over his bare chest, all topped off with a wide-brimmed hat the likes of which Ryan has definitely seen dads sporting at Disneyland. He’s a little annoyed by how well Shane pulls it off, honestly.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Ryan,” Shane replies serenely, stretching beneath the shade of their rented umbrella. The sprawl of his legs is at once hilarious and utterly distracting, his shins and long, fine-boned feet resting on the sun-warmed sand because his beach towel isn’t long enough to contain them. There’s so fucking much of him, the amount of skin he’s baring only serving to emphasis the length of his legs and the broad span of his shoulders. Coupled with the brightness of his attire, it’s difficult not to stare. “This hat and those tattoos? You’d be the coolest dad around.”

Ryan huffs a laugh. “Thanks for that ringing endorsement, big guy.” The nickname slips out without any input from his brain, but all Shane does is tilt his head and grin, toes wiggling in the sand.

“Anytime,” he says, nudging his sunglasses back into place along the bridge of his nose. “Speaking of tattoos,” he adds, dipping his head to take in the span of Ryan’s sprawled form. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Despite the warmth of the day, Ryan finds himself shivering beneath Shane’s scrutiny. It’s not a bad feeling, just a weighted one. He’s proud of his physique, proud of the work and effort he’s put into it, and knows that he cuts a striking figure with his tattoos. He’s used to the weight of eyes on him, but there’s something about Shane’s that makes him want to show off a little, emphasize the bunch and flex of muscles rolling beneath bronze skin, just so Shane will keep staring.

“Gotta keep some secrets,” he jokes, shoulders lifting in a shrug far too casual for the degree of warmth curling thick in the pit of his belly. “What was I supposed to do, strip in the middle of the bar?”

Shane purses his lips and hums, as if he’s actually considering it, and Ryan doesn’t know whether to laugh or choke. “It’s pretty,” Shane says eventually, lifting curious fingers to Ryan’s shoulder. There’s a bandage wrapped around his pointer finger – clipper accident, he’d said – and Ryan focuses on it as the soft pads of Shane’s fingertips drift over the waves crashing along his bicep. It’s too hot, suddenly, even under the shade of their umbrella, and he can feel his face flushing. Shane doesn’t seem to notice, only has eyes for the muted blues and greys of Ryan’s waves, tracing the curl of the largest as it arches along his shoulder.

“I mean, nothing beats the real thing,” Ryan says a bit inanely, his voice a little strangled. He slips off his sunglasses and gestures to the wide blue expanse of the ocean, a restlessness aching in his limbs that he hopes the cool water will soothe. “If you wanna… ?”

Shane grins. “If this is a ploy to steal my hat I’ll never forgive you, Bergara,” he says, though he discards it and his sunglasses easily enough, leaving them behind on his towel and tossing his shirt over top to keep them from flying away in the breeze.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what this is,” Ryan returns exasperatedly, his eyes drawn to the smattering of freckles along Shane’s bare shoulders. “First one to the shore buys lunch?” he asks, tearing his gaze away and taking off for the waves. Shane’s startled laugh trails after him, followed by the muffled tread of bare feet over sand, his long legs eating up the distance between them so easily that by the time Ryan reaches the shore, Shane’s just half a step behind him.

They spend hours crashing about in the waves, the water blessedly cool and bracing against Ryan’s overheated flesh. He nearly swallows a mouthful watching Shane push through the water; his long limbs cutting through the waves put Ryan in mind of some deep sea cryptid, though he gets dunked when he gleefully points that out. He comes up coughing, water uncomfortably clogged in his nose, but it’s worth it for the disgruntled look on Shane’s face, and the faux-fear that settles over his features as Ryan unleashes a battle cry and gives chase. 

They get lunch from one of the many food trucks scattered along the boardwalk, carting it back to their umbrella and eating beneath the shade. Shane watches in slack-jawed astonishment as Ryan takes a bite of his burrito, peppers spilling onto his plate and bringing a healthy red flush to his cheeks, and Ryan ribs Shane mercilessly for his sad, sad intolerance for spice.

“Oh, I meant to tell you,” he says after they’ve finished their meal and tossed their trash in the nearest garbage bin. “I’ve got an appointment on Wednesday around noon with Kelsey – she owns a game store in town, maybe you’ve seen it?”

Shane hums and leans back on his hands. “Yeah, I’ve been in a couple of times.”

“She’s coming in for a color session, should take a couple of hours. If you wanted to – I mean, if you have time – you could come in and watch?”

“She wouldn’t mind?”

“Nah, she’s cool with it,” Ryan assures, and then admits, “I _may_ have already asked her?”

Shane huffs a laugh, eyes twinkling over the rim of his sunglasses. “Sneaky. Sure, Steven can handle the shop for an hour or two.”

“Awesome.” Ryan doesn’t know why he’s so excited about the prospect of Shane watching him work, but he is, giddy in the same nervous way he usually is before a first date, and that’s definitely a train of thought he shouldn’t be following right now.

“So I should expect you promptly at eight on Friday, right?” Shane asks, lips curling in a tiny cheshire grin. “For my first workshop?”

Ryan mock-gasps, “Blackmail!” and warms beneath the soft rasp of Shane’s answering laughter. 

“Them’s the breaks, Ry-guy. Take it or leave it.”

Ryan promises to be there, though he does so in the most beleaguered way possible. He’s flushed from the pleasure of their easy banter and the way Shane’s eyes crinkle when he laughs, and is relieved when they head back out for one last romp in the ocean before calling it a day, the chill of the water a balm against his red cheeks.

The relief doesn’t last long, unfortunately, and Ryan finds himself rubbing fitfully at his nose on the way back to the car. His cheeks continue to ache, the warmth blooming beneath his skin no longer the fault of his endearingly goofy neighbor but from a little too much time spent in the sun.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one with delicate skin?” Shane jokes lightly, taking off his hat and plopping it onto Ryan’s head with a flourish. The instant shade from the hot afternoon sun is a welcomed relief, so much so that Ryan can’t even be annoyed by Shane’s knowing grin. Granted, that might have more to do with the way Shane’s wind-swept hair, dried soft and fluffy in the heat of the day, flares honey-gold in the sun, but no one else needs to know that. “I’ve got something that might help back at my apartment, if you want to come up? I’ll banish Obi to the bedroom.”

It’s easy to say yes, regardless of the warm, sleepy ache that comes from a long day spent gamboling about in the waves. Even the threat of his allergies flaring up doesn’t deter him from following Shane up the stairs to his apartment, and he makes a point to remind himself to grab some Benadryl in preparation for Friday, just in case Obi’s fuzzy little face makes an appearance at the workshop.

Shane’s apartment is small and cozy, the layout similar to Ryan’s own. Ryan glances at the framed movie posters and photos displayed on the walls, shaking his head in exasperated amusement at the delicate blue butterfly mounted behind glass and perched on Shane’s bookshelf. He eyes the titles of Shane’s library as Shane ducks into his bedroom with Obi, historical non-fiction and travel guides interspersed with horror and sci-fi and books about film.

“Here we go,” Shane says, emerging from his bedroom with his hands cradled around a pot of green, spiky leaves. “A little of this and you’ll be right as rain.”

“Aloe?” Ryan guesses, following him into the kitchen. His mother used to keep a plant in the kitchen window in case of burns, and he vaguely recognizes the shape.

“You got it,” Shane says, stowing the pot on the counter and rummaging in the drawers for a pair of tiny clippers. He snips off one of the leaves, angling the clippers close to the stem, and runs his finger along the broken end. It comes away wet with a clear gel, and Ryan goes very still as Shane reaches for his chin with his clean hand.

Shane falters before he makes contact, hesitating with his hand hovering awkwardly in the air between them. For the first since Ryan has known him, he looks nervous. “Sorry, I can just – “

“It’s fine,” Ryan murmurs, swallowing dryly and tilting his chin up. “Go ahead.”

He’s almost prepared for it, in the way that he knows it’s coming, but he still sucks in a breath as Shane’s fingertips curl beneath his chin, holding his face still as he spreads the gel over the bridge of Ryan’s nose and along the apples of his cheeks. The warmth of Shane’s skin creates a pleasing contrast to the coolness of the aloe, and Ryan finds his eyes flicking from Shane’s throat to his face and back again, feeling weirdly exposed and unable to meet Shane’s eyes for longer than a few seconds at a time.

“Feels nice,” he says, wanting to break the somewhat awkward silence that’s fallen between them. The air feels charged, somehow, and maybe it’s the proximity, or maybe it’s the sensation of Shane’s finger dragging along his cheeks. Maybe it’s the curve of Shane’s thin lips, slightly parted in concentration as he smooths the gel into Ryan’s skin. “The aloe, I mean. Can see how it would come in handy.”

“Oh, yeah,” Shane says, blinking and jerking back a little, as if he’d forgotten where he was for a second. “You can uh, take this home,” he says, wiping his hands on his shorts. “It doesn’t need water that often, once every two or three weeks should be good, the roots will rot if they’re too moist so, uh. Be careful about that.”

Ryan’s lips twitch. It’s strange, seeing a slip in Shane’s composure, but he likes it, wonders if their proximity had caused it and what else he could do to make Shane stumble, throw him off his game a little.

“Thanks,” he says, reaching up to pluck Shane’s hat from his head and setting it on the counter. His hair’s a mess, sticking out in every direction, and he can’t help but notice Shane’s eyes following the movement of his fingers as he ruffles the mussed curls back into place. “For the aloe. And for today. It was fun.”

“It was,” Shane says, his smile soft as he sees Ryan to the door. He lingers at the threshold, long fingers curled loosely around the frame. “I’ll – I’ll see you Wednesday?”

“Wednesday,” Ryan nods, cradling the pot in the bend of his arm and digging out his keys with the other. “Until then, big guy.”

He feels the weight of Shane’s eyes on his back as he leaves, a warm brand across his shoulders that lingers long after he’s tucked away in his own apartment.

He sets the aloe on the kitchen windowsill, where the light of the setting sun can catch on its spiky leaves. It reminds him all at once of home, and of Shane, and he isn’t sure which makes him smile more.


	4. tulip

“So, when do I get to meet this mystery man of yours?”

Ryan sighs through his nose, not bothering to glance up from Kelsey’s forearm, where the game controller he'd outlined for her a couple of weeks ago stands out starkly, waiting for color. “He’s just my neighbor, Kelsey. No mystery involved.”

“Uh huh,” Kelsey hums, blatantly unconvinced. “Is that why you keep glancing toward the door every two minutes? Because he’s _just_ your neighbor?”

The hum of the tattoo gun ceases as Ryan flicks his eyes up to meet hers. “Have you been talking to Jen?” he asks suspiciously.

“Should I?” she asks, her face the picture of innocent curiosity. “I mean, I _could_, if that’s a thing I should be doing.”

“Please don’t,” Ryan says, bending his head over her forearm and continuing to work the first splash of color into her skin. “The last thing I need is another one of you poking your nose into my love life.”

“Lot of that going around, huh?” Kelsey asks, amusement lending a lilt to her voice.

Ryan blows out a breath. “You could say that,” he says, though he might be overexaggerating a bit. Honestly, other than gently nudging him in Shane’s direction and then teasing the hell out of him when their friendship took off, Jen and the others have mostly left Ryan to his own devices.

“I mean, if you’re into him…” Kelsey starts, her voice trailing off meaningfully.

“Never said that,” Ryan mumbles, though he can feel the tips of his ears burning.

“It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, is all I’m saying,” Kelsey finishes, and when Ryan silences the tattoo gun and glances up at her, her lips are tilted into a soft smile. “I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but you seem really… happy, lately. Like, moreso than usual. And you sounded so excited over the phone when you asked if Shane could sit in; it was cute.”

“I did not,” Ryan argues, though even he can hear the uncertainty in his voice.

Kelsey just grins, her eyes trailing toward the front of the parlor. “Oh, you definitely did. And you know what? If that’s Shane, I totally can’t blame you.”

“Huh?” Ryan glances over his shoulder just as the bell above the door chimes, Shane ducking inside with a crème-colored box cradled in his arms and his hair a wind-swept mess on top of his head, flyaway strands curling over his brow and sticking up comically in the back.

Despite himself, Ryan feels his lips lifting into a fond smile at the sight of him, and he makes a point not to catch Kelsey’s eyes as he waves Shane over with a gloved hand.

“Glad you could make it,” he says, resisting the urge to stand or wipe his palms on his jeans. Why the fuck is he suddenly so fucking nervous?

“Sorry I’m late.” Shane offers his hand to Kelsey, and Ryan takes a moment to marvel at how far he has to hunch over to do it. “You must be Kelsey.”

“That’s me,” Kelsey grins, pumping his hand and waving toward the chair sitting empty beside hers. “Ready to enjoy the show?”

“You bet.” Shane takes the seat with a ready smile, settling the box on the bend of his knees. Ryan spots the logo for _Curly’s_ splayed across the top and tilts his head in question. 

“Whatcha got there, big guy?”

“A little something for you, actually,” Shane says to Kelsey, nudging the lid open to reveal golden brown dumplings packed into neat little rows and lightly dusted with powdered sugar. Ryan recognizes them instantly as Rie’s handiwork and knows that they’re packed full of warm, gooey apple filling. “As thanks for letting me sit in.”

Kelsey practically _melts_. “Oh my god, you're the _best_. Thank you!"

"You're very welcome," Shane replies, ducking his head. The curl of his smile is small and desperately sweet, and Ryan can tell that Kelsey is hopelessly endeared by it. He really can't blame her.

"Lemme get to a good stopping point and then we can have some," he says, fingers sure on the tattoo machine as he picks it back up and ducks over Kelsey’s arm. He flicks his gaze back up to Shane's before he starts, his, "You ready, big guy?" a little more flirtatious than he means for it to be. 

But that's alright, because Shane's, "Whenever you are, little guy," is just as bad. He settles back in his chair, crossing one long leg over the other, and if Ryan needs a second to pull himself together before he gets to work, well... who can blame him?

It's easier to ignore the 6'4" walking distraction once he starts, thank fuck. Ryan's always fallen into a hyper-focused state whenever he’s working, his awareness restricted to his client, his equipment, and the next line or color to be inked. It’s no different now, but as much as he’s focused on Kelsey and the bright starbursts of purple, yellow, and pink spilling from the curves of her controller, he’s also viscerally aware of Shane’s eyes, their weight trained on him, on his hands, on his face. Ryan can feel it, a faint itch traveling over this skin, not at all unpleasant but definitely noticeable.

And the thing is - Ryan knows he's good. He's spent years honing his craft and is proud of where his talent has gotten him. He's got clients across the whole of L.A and plenty of favorable reviews to denote his skill and the skill of his employees. He has nothing to prove.

And yet he wants to. Prove himself, that is. To Shane. Not show off, per se, but something close. He wants Shane to see him in his element, to show him how he's made a name for himself, to highlight the skills he's spent so long perfecting. He wants Shane to see it all, and to be impressed.

Okay, so maybe he has a bit of a thing for the guy. So what? He can remain professional, damn it.

And he does, though other than explaining some of the technical aspects – how to prepare the area before it can be inked, the function of the tattoo machine and the importance of keeping the skin moist so the needle will glide more easily over it – he winds up leaving most of the talking to Kelsey. He had asked her if Shane could observe mostly because this was her first tattoo and so he knew she’d have the best insight into the process for him, and as he glances up between switching needles and wiping the excess ink from Kelsey’s skin, he’s glad of his decision.

Shane looks absolutely fascinated, listening intently as Kelsey talks him through the entire process, from choosing her design and booking the appointment to how it had felt the moment the first needle had touched her skin.

“It’s definitely not, uh, pleasant,” she says, wincing good-naturedly. “It all depends on your pain tolerance and like… remembering to breathe. Distractions are good – another person, music, a chatty tattoo artist – “

Ryan snorts but says nothing.

“It’s worth it in the end, though. I haven’t been able to stop staring at mine and it’s not even finished yet. It may have taken me a while to come around to it but I’m glad I decided to go for it.”

Shane nods along, as if he understands perfectly. Ryan doesn’t know if this little show and tell has softened him toward actually getting a tattoo for himself, but hopefully it’s eased whatever fears or concerns he may have had about the process. Ryan knows better than most how easy it is to work yourself up over something if you don’t have an implicit understanding of it.

“Say you did decide to get one,” Kelsey muses, and Ryan’s ears perk up. “You know, eventually. What would it be? Any ideas?”

“Oh, me and Ryan have already talked about that,” Shane says. Ryan doesn’t even need to look at him to sense the amusement plastered all over his face.

He scoffs. “M’not tattooing your ass,” he says, ignoring Kelsey’s startled laughter. “Time to put that dream to bed, big guy.”

“Awww,” Shane whines, before Ryan hears his chair squeak. “I’ll wear him down one of these days,” he whispers, and Ryan spares a glance up to see him leaning toward Kelsey, a hand cupped around his mouth as if he’s sharing a secret. They’re both grinning, Kelsey’s shoulders quivering as she laughs, and Ryan rolls his eyes at them both.

Shane's not able to stay long. He'd only left Steven in charge of the shop for an hour, and needs to get back to help out with a massive order they'd gotten a few days before. 

"It's for a wedding," Shane explains dryly, the exasperation evident in his voice. "The bride and groom are lovely people but their parents are very... hmm, particular about certain things. Including the exact shade of lilies they need for the wedding party. I'd better get back before they call and start yelling. Again."

"Good luck!" Kelsey calls, a sympathetic smile on her lips. "Thanks for stopping by, and for the sugar!"

"Yeah, thanks," Ryan choruses, lips twitching into a frown at the thought of Shane being chastised by insufferable parents. "Sorry for pulling you away, I didn't think to ask if you were too busy - "

"Hey, no, it's okay," Shane interrupts, running long fingers through his hair and scratching idly at the back of his neck. "I wanted to come. I'm glad I did." 

His face is so soft and open, as earnest as his words, and Ryan swallows convulsively, feeling a tell-tale heat in the apples of his cheeks.

"Me too," he says, and then rushes to amend, "I'm glad you came, too."

Shane grins, joy pushing his eyes into half-moons and his voice soft as he says, "Then I'm glad to hear it."

He leaves the box of dumplings on his abandoned seat, promising Kelsey to join them both for lunch later in the week so he can see her finished tattoo before he leaves. He gives them a jaunty wave through the window before he disappears from view, and as soon as he's gone, Kelsey turns the full force of her grin on Ryan. 

“He’s cute,” she muses, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Ryan blows out a breath, half-laugh and half-sigh. _You know what?_ he thinks, endearment warm in the slant of his smile as he ducks his head. _Fuck it_. 

“Yeah," he says, the hum of the tattoo gun nearly muffling his voice – nearly, but not quite. "I guess he is.”

*

Music greets Ryan as soon as he hits the street outside his apartment, strains of something jazzy spilling from the brightly lit interior of the flower shop. Shane stands at the front door, backlit by the soft fluorescents, in a floral shirt and deep blue chinos, apron strings tied loosely at the small of his back.

He’s talking quietly to two elderly ladies, smiling as he waves them inside, and when he glances over and catches sight of Ryan, his eyes light right up.

“Looks like a good turn out,” Ryan says, hands stuffed in the pockets of his skinny jeans as he glances through the large bay windows into the shop. The display stands have been moved to the sides of the shop to leave room for more tables, all cleared of stock and lined with chairs for guests. Ryan spots Jen and Andrew and Eugene, and even catches a glimpse of Curly and Kelsey among the throng of elderly ladies, a few middle-aged couples, and some other locals Ryan vaguely recognizes from around town.

“It’s definitely an interesting mix,” Shane chuckles, his eyes warm behind the lenses of his clear-framed glasses. “Thanks again for coming. I appreciate you being here.”

“Yeah?” Ryan preens a bit beneath Shane's gratitude, and preens a little more when he notices Shane's eyes flick down the length of him and back again, quick as a flash. He might have spent longer than strictly necessary in front of his mirror before heading out. He also might have styled his hair and wore a sweater that clung to his chest and biceps, just in case. 

"Mm hm," Shane hums, and Ryan can't be sure with the light tossing shadows over Shane's face, but he could swear that Shane's cheeks are pink. "Everything's all set up if you want to head in. It's not much, just kind of tossed something together, but - "

"It looks great," Ryan says, because apparently the urge to reassure Shane is one that he can't really control. But hey, if it nabs him one of Shane’s pleased little smiles, then who the fuck cares?

And the shop _does_ look great, its familiar cozy atmosphere bolstered by the muffled din of conversation and music drifting from within. The interior is warm and lively, the scent of fresh blooms mixing with the familiar aroma of coffee coming from a little station set up near the front counter. Ryan slips into a seat between Curly and Jen, both greeting him with wide smiles, though he can’t help but sneak a couple of peeks toward the front door, his eyes drawn again and again to Shane’s welcoming smile and the way the shop lights play softly over his face. 

It isn’t until the last few stragglers arrive and Shane takes his place at the front of the room that Ryan notices the little metal pails filled with flowers on a smaller table up front, their petals ranging vastly in color and size and shape. As Shane addresses the crowd, thanking them for coming and explaining the nature of this first workshop – flower crowns, apparently – Steven moves along the tables with a tote full of supplies, dispersing clippers, wire, tape, and even spools of multi-colored ribbon to each guest. Ryan tries not to grin as Andrew offers to help him, eagerly taking the heavy tote from Steven’s shoulder and returning the taller man’s grateful smile with a small, pleased curl of his own lips. 

“Love is in the air,” Curly murmurs, and Ryan hums his agreement, even as he’s distracted from the sight of Andrew’s endeared little smile by the tall figure Shane cuts at the head of the room.

“Now, before we begin,” he’s saying, voice trailing off teasingly as he glances over the class. “I’ll need a volunteer.”

Curly nudges Ryan’s arm none-too-gently, the sharp point of his elbow ramming into Ryan’s bicep causing Ryan to curse and for every pair of eyes in the room to gravitate toward him, including Shane’s, who looks thrilled.

“Aww, thanks, Ryan,” he says, patting the back of the chair. Ryan swallows his protest at the look of genuine happiness on Shane's face and rises from his seat amid a smattering of applause, Curly’s and Jen's (and Kelsey's, the traitor) among the loudest.

"Your throne, little king," Shane murmurs, low enough that only Ryan can hear. Ryan makes a face at him and plops down into the chair with more force than necessary, pushing away the flush in his cheeks by sheer fucking willpower alone. 

"Now that we have our gracious volunteer," Shane says, clapping Ryan’s shoulder and leading the room in another round of grateful applause. "Let’s get started!"

As Shane demonstrates how to begin crafting the perfect flower crown, Ryan's both thankful to be the volunteer and also really fucking not, because he can't see a goddamn thing Shane is doing, but he can _feel_ him, the long line of him hovering at Ryan's shoulder, the displacement of air as he moves to grab the wire cutters and the floral wire, and the barest brush of his fingers as he measures the wire to fit Ryan's head.

Ryan tries to pay attention to Shane's words at least, but even they start to blur after a while, becoming nothing but a low, soothing cacophony as Shane explains how to wrap the wire with floral tape. 

It's only as Shane says, "Now that that's done, we're onto the most important step - choosing your greenery and your flowers," that Ryan's brain seems to come back online, clueing him in to the fact that everyone has constructed the base of their crowns and are watching Shane expectantly as he moves over to the pails of flowers. "Now... for Ryan here, let's go with... " He rummages around in one pail, and then another, and another. Ryan doesn't pay any attention to what flowers he's choosing, his eyes drawn instead to the broad span of Shane's shoulders and the length of his long, slender back, watching his shoulder blades shift beneath his shirt and the flyaway tufts of hair sticking up at the back of his head. 

He quickly adjusts his gaze when Shane turns toward him, pretending he was staring at the room at large rather than any tall, handsome florists, so he's a little startled when Shane thrusts a handful of greens and yellow bulb-like blossoms into his hands.

"Some yellow tulips would fit Ryan rather well, I think," Shane says with a tiny, feline smile, before plucking the unfinished crown from Ryan's head and showing the class how to attach each delicate leaf and blossom to the covered circlet of wire. When he's done, the crown is a riot of soft, curling stems, spiky leaves, and the brilliantly yellow tulips. It's beautiful, especially as it lays cradled in Shane's big hands, and Ryan flushes as Shane carefully sets the finished product on his head, tilting it at a jaunty angle and then stepping back to admire his handiwork.

And he _is_ admiring, the look on his face a mixture of satisfaction and something else that Ryan can't identify, something immeasurably soft and heated all at once. Ryan doesn't know what to do with that look, though he longs to squirm beneath its weight - not altogether a bad feeling, but probably one he shouldn't indulge in with a room full of curious onlookers watching his every move.

He’s in a bit of a daze when he slips back into his seat at the table, the crown an almost ticklish weight around his head. Jen nudges him with her shoulder, her smile sweet and devoid of teasing, and Ryan finds himself returning it, his cheeks warm and gently aching from the force of his smile, a smile that only grows each time he glances up from the makings of his own crown to see Shane bent over a table, patiently explaining how to attach a bloom or the properties of a certain flower.

“Asters are named after the Greek word for ‘star.’” He holds a lilac bloom between his fingers, carefully winding its stem around the crown of an elderly lady with auburn hair piled in a bun. “They symbolize love, wisdom, and faith, and convey deep emotional love and affection for someone.” He hands the crown back with a playful wink, and Ryan huffs in amusement as the woman shoos Shane away with a girlish giggle.

Shane’s attention is in high demand, and Ryan finds no small amount of pleasure in watching him move around the room, patiently answering questions and describing the meaning associated with each flower, any uses it might have, and interesting little tidbits about its history.

“What about this one?” Ryan peers over his shoulder when he hears Kelsey’s voice, blinking as he notices the yellow tulip pinched delicately between her fingers.

“Oh, uh – ” Shane waffles for a moment, his chin jerking as if he’s fighting not to duck his head or glance away. “Tulips are like any other flower, really. Generally different hues symbolize different things – white for worthiness, red for true love, purple for royalty. Yellow tulips typically symbolize cheerful thoughts, or… ah… taken into a more literal sense… ” His voice trails off in a mumble, too low to pick out, and Ryan twists in his seat, straining to hear more.

“Sorry, what was that?” Kelsey asks, lips twitching as she catches Ryan’s eye.

“’There’s sunshine in your smile’,” Shane repeats, his fingers fiddling with the tie of his apron.

“That’s what I thought you said,” Kelsey replies cheerfully. “Thanks, Shane!”

“Mm hm, no problem.” Shane brushes his apron down and beats a hasty retreat, his face carefully angled away from Ryan, and Ryan – well.

“_Can you feel the love tonight_?” Curly croons, placing a crown of orchids and marigolds on his head. “I certainly can. What about you, Ruggirello?”

“Oh, I feel it,” Jen hums, a crown of pink camellia and purple iris nestled in her dark hair and a look of fond affection angled at Ryan.

Ryan barely hears them, his thoughts too full, his _heart_ too full. He feels… giddy. Giddy and nervous and a little wild. He wants to do something, say something, anything to soothe the sudden restless ache in his chest, his limbs, the same ache he’s felt in Shane’s presence for weeks now: when Shane had joked with him at the bar about Bigfoot; when they’d sat together at _Curly’s_ after Ryan’s nightmare, the morning sunlight drenching them both; when they’d spent hours tumbling through the waves that day at the beach, Shane’s damp hair dripping saltwater onto his freckled shoulders; the blatant admiration on Shane’s face as he’d placed the crown on Ryan’s head, and the nervous, almost secretive cadence of his voice as he murmured _there’s sunshine in your smile_.

There’s nothing he can do about any of it, not until the class draws to a close and the guests all begin to filter out, heads adorned with colorful wreaths of brilliant petals and leafy greens. Jen is among the last to go, after Shane waves Steven off with a smile and an assurance that he can clean up on his own, and she squeezes his hand once before taking her leave, the bell above the door chiming merrily after her.

“Did you need something, Ry?” Shane asks him, hands curled around the handle of a broom and expression a little cautious, but hopeful.

Ryan rises from his chair, maneuvering around the table and approaching Shane with his heart practically in his throat. 

“You don’t have a crown.” It’s not exactly what he’d wanted to say, but it’s what comes out of his mouth.

Shane looks a little confused. “Well, no… “

In a fit of confidence that Ryan hopes won’t abandon him in the next two minutes, he hops up onto the nearest table and gestures Shane over to him with a curled finger. “Can’t have that, big guy. You deserve one too, y’know?”

“I do?” It’s honestly a little gratifying to have this effect on Shane – to be able to strip him of his usual composure, leave him floundering a bit. It’s especially gratifying to have Shane actually listen to him, coming closer until he’s settled just shy of Ryan’s spread legs, his eyes flicking down to the space between them before they jerk back up to Ryan’s face.

Ryan smiles, a fleeting curl of a thing that trembles at the edges. He glances at the leftover petals scattered across the table, recalling everything Shane had said about them, and reaches for a flower with soft, white petals to tuck behind Shane’s ear.

“A gardenia, right?” he asks, tilting his head as he takes in the image – Shane standing still and dumbfounded with the soft petals curling over the top of his ear. “What do those mean, again?”

“Joy,” Shane murmurs, his fingers tightening around the broom handle. “Purity. Associated with thoughts of beauty.”

Ryan nods, not saying anything, and reaches next for a handful of blue flowers with white centers, delicately plucking each bloom from his cupped hand to nestle in the riotous mess of Shane’s hair. “And these?”

“Delphiniums.” Shane’s watching his face, gaze heavy on his mouth. Ryan bites the inside of his cheek to stop his lips from trembling. “Ardent attachment and… and an open heart.” Open to new possibilities, to new experiences, and to sharing both, if Ryan’s lucky.

The music has long since come to a stop, so that all Ryan can hear as he plucks a rose from the table, its petals a pinkish shade of orange, is their breathing and the shift of Shane’s loafers against the floor.

“What about this one?” Jesus Christ, if the stunt he’s pulling right now doesn’t clue Shane in to what’s going on, his voice certainly will. It’s barely louder than a murmur, a low rasp that’s better suited to the bedroom than out in public, in full glaring view of whoever happens to be passing by outside the window right now.

But it’s okay, because Shane’s voice sounds just as wrecked when Ryan tucks the rose over his other ear, though that might have something to do with Ryan’s other hand curling around his throat, fingertips scratching lightly at his nape. “Coral rose. It means – it means enthusiasm.”

“And?” Ryan prompts gently, pulling Shane closer and tilting his head up to meet him.

“_Desire_,” Shane exhales, their foreheads nearly touching. “Fuck, Ryan – ”

Ryan doesn’t let him finish, just tugs him down a few short inches and kisses him quiet. Shane huffs against his mouth, there’s the sharp clack of the broom hitting the ground, and then Shane’s hands are cupping his cheeks, his head tilting, mouth parting against Ryan’s –

Fuck, it’s _perfect_. Shane’s lips are thin but soft, the slight scratch of his stubble only adding to the want pooling in the pit of Ryan’s belly, spreading hot through his veins. And his _hands_ \- those huge fucking hands that Ryan has spent more than a few passing moments wondering about – how’d they look, how’d they feel on his skin, wrapped around his wrists, or his waist, or his hips, _fuck_, they feel amazing, big and warm, the palms wide and lightly callused, his hold on Ryan’s face gentle and loose enough that Ryan could break it easily. As if he’d ever want to.

Ryan melts beneath such a reverent touch, fingers spearing through Shane’s hair to keep himself afloat. Soft petals and equally soft strands twine around his fingertips; Ryan tugs, softly, just once, and Shane’s chest falls against his, a low, rumbling moan spilling from his lips. That sound will haunt Ryan’s dreams tonight and for nights to come, of that he’s certain, and he pulls Shane closer, a leg curling loosely over his hip, just in the hopes of hearing it again.

Shane stumbles against him, palms jerking away from Ryan’s cheeks to slam against the table on either side of his hips. A startled laugh escapes him, his forehead resting briefly against Ryan’s before he pulls away – not far, just a couple of inches, his breath rushed and face incredulous but so fucking soft.

“Did you really just seduce me via flowers?” he asks, his eyes crinkling as he searches Ryan’s.

Ryan grins, his chest fit to bursting from how goddamn happy he is – happy to be here, settled in the circle of Shane’s arms with Shane pressed against him, breath labored and cheeks flushed with exertion. “Maybe. Why? You got a problem with that, Madej?” He pushes his fingers through Shane’s hair, not tugging, just enjoying the feel of the soft strands slipping over his skin, and relishes in the shudder that works its way through Shane’s body.

“Nah,” Shane breathes, ducking down to tuck his forehead against the bend of Ryan’s shoulder. “Jus’ surprised, I guess.”

“Really?” Ryan sweeps his other hand down the length of Shane’s back, catching briefly on his apron strings before smoothing over. “Nobody else will be. Trust me.”

Shane laughs, his shoulder shaking against Ryan’s chest. “Are you trying to tell me that you’ve had a crush on me, Bergara?” he asks, pulling away only far enough to catch Ryan’s eye. “And that everybody knows about it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Ryan argues, though it’s a weak protest even to his own ears.

Shane huffs out a laugh, leaning down to catch Ryan’s mouth in another kiss. “S’okay,” he says after it ends. The petals have mostly fallen out of his hair, knocked askew by Ryan’s fingers, but the coral rose remains, a burst of pinkish-orange against the flushed pallor of Shane’s cheek. “I’ve got a crush on you, too.”

Ryan grins, a huge, unwieldy thing. “Yeah?”

Shane rolls his eyes. “Well, don’t get a big head about it.”

“Says the guy with the biggest noggin’ I’ve ever met,” Ryan scoffs, flicking lightly at Shane’s forehead.

Shane gasps, widening his eyes in a show of mock-offense. “You know what – “ he starts, only to duck down and proceed to kiss Ryan silly, both of them giggling too hard for it to be anything but a subpar meshing of mouths, their laughter echoing throughout the shop and out into the cool night air, where only the warmly glowing streetlights and softly whistling wind can hear them.


	5. +1: lily of the valley

Shane hums when he kisses; Ryan can hear it, low as it is, barely audible over the huff of their breaths and the faint, muted sound of the Netflix movie they haven’t been paying any attention to, anyway. It’s not a constant thing, just a muted, happy trill that rumbles from Shane’s throat when he’s really into it, lost in the heated press of their mouths and the slick curl of their tongues. Ryan’s wanted to coax that sound out of Shane as often as he could since the moment he first heard it, and so far he’s been wildly successful.

He relishes in it now, that pleased little sound, along with the warmth of Shane’s broad shoulders beneath his palms and the sweet, woodsy smell of his cologne. Shane’s a walking distraction at the best of times but tonight he’d really fucking outdone himself, his hair artfully messy and his eyes warm and crinkled as he’d picked Ryan up for their date, offering his arm with a goofy little flourish that had left Ryan cackling all the way to the movie theater.

They'd gone to see an action flick starring one of their favorite actors, had nearly gotten kicked out when they'd spotted Steven and Andrew down front and spent a good twenty minutes tossing popcorn at their heads. They’d duck down into their seats whenever either of their targets would jerk their heads around, Ryan’s cheek smushed into Shane’s shoulder and their laughter muffled by the sound of explosions and death-defying stunts happening on-screen. More than a few kernels had still been caught in Steven’s hair when they’d run into each other in the lobby, and Ryan had been in tears by the time he and Shane had stumbled outside. As far as first dates went, it had been one of the best he’d ever had.

Especially if the night continues in this vein, with Shane nestled between his thighs, smelling faintly of popcorn and the sour candies they’d been knocking back in the theater, mouth soft and hot against his and those hands – fuck, those _hands_, one curled loosely around Ryan’s hip and the other stroking along his stomach, the movement slow, lingering low on his belly. Heat pools in his groin, his dick twitching within his underwear, and Ryan pulls away with a gasp, head falling back against the arm of the couch.

“Fuck, big guy,” he murmurs, his voice thrashed. Shane laughs against his cheek, nosing at his jawline and planting a kiss on his chin.

“Too much?”

“Not even a little,” Ryan breathes, drawing his fingers through Shane’s fluffy hair, casually mussing the strands until they fall out of the slicked-back wave Shane had styled them into. “You?”

Shane shakes his head, ducks down to drag his mouth along Ryan’s adam’s apple. “Nah. ‘M having a good time.”

Ryan grins, lashes fluttering as Shane scatters lazy kisses along the arch of his throat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The hand settled on his stomach slips beneath his shirt on the next stroke, and Ryan sucks in a breath at the drag of Shane’s fingers along his skin. “Wanted to do this for a while.”

Ryan peers down at Shane through heavy-lidded eyes, idly petting at the baby hairs at the nape of Shane’s neck. “What? Touch me?” 

“God, yeah,” Shane sighs, a note of laughter in his voice like he can’t believe he’s actually admitting it. “It’s insufferable, how badly I wanted – this, any of it. _I’ve_ been insufferable. Steven was _this_ close to quitting over it, Ryan.” He holds up his fingers, pinched close together so that only a sliver of space rests between them. “That, or resorting to murder.”

Ryan wheezes. “Tell him to join the fucking club, dude. Pretty sure Jen and Eugene had a running bet about when I would finally make a move.” Pretty sure in the sense that they had actually told him about it, Jen gleefully palming the cash Eugene had slipped into her hand as soon as they found out about his and Shane’s upcoming date.

Shane snorts, his nose scrunching up and his eyes crinkling into half-moons. “Well, at least we know they’re supportive.”

“To a fault,” Ryan says, laughing softly. He tilts his head against the arm of the couch, hands falling from Shane’s hair to settle on his forearms. “For the record,” he adds, squeezing gently. “The whole touching me thing? I’m all for it, so. Feel free, big guy.”

Shane stares down at him, eyes a dark, honeyed brown. “Right back atcha, little guy. For the record.”

Ryan doesn’t need to be told twice. He tugs Shane down into another kiss, deeper, wetter, a little filthier than any they’ve shared before, desperation lending a fevered edge to each twist and flick and hungry curl of their tongues. Sparks alight in his belly at the scrape of Shane’s blunt nails along his navel, scratching through the trail of hair disappearing into his waistband, and he reaches for Shane’s zipper with a hungry groan, wanting, _needing_, to feel him.

Shane curses softly against his mouth as Ryan works his zipper down and dips eager fingers inside to curl around his bulge, the head of his cock already a little damp with pre-come where it’s tucked against the band of his underwear. His brow thuds against the curve of Ryan’s shoulder, mouth moving soundlessly as Ryan eases his length through the slit in his boxers, leaving a damp spot on Ryan’s shirt as his breath begins to quicken.

Ryan cranes his neck to peer between them, arousal spiking at the sight of Shane’s dick, bare and curving toward his stomach. He curls his fingers loosely around the thick base, trailing lightly up the length of the long, silken shaft until he can drag his thumb over the flared, slippery head. Shane groans, fingers twitching against Ryan’s belly, and Ryan’s mouth drops open at the sound of it, low and gravely, rumbling through the cage of Shane’s chest and into his own.

“God, baby,” he breathes, curling his free hand around the nape of Shane’s neck as he begins to stroke, smearing Shane’s own slick down the length of his shaft. Shane echoes him with an aborted grunt of his name, broken with a gasp as Ryan squeezes gently at his base, the slick, muffled squelch of Ryan’s fist dragging along Shane’s cock bringing a flush to both of their faces. God, the sight of Shane fucking through the circle of his fist is an image that’s going to stick in Ryan’s mind forever – the wet, swollen head of his dick pushing through the sleeve of Ryan’s fingers, the aborted twitch of his hips and the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

The way he surges up to catch Ryan’s mouth in a sloppy kiss when Ryan thumbs at his slit, his breaths harsh and peppered with urgent little whimpers that go straight to Ryan’s head and down into the pit of his belly, making his breath catch and his fingers clench around a fistful of Shane’s hair.

“_Fuck_,” Shane grits, teeth catching at Ryan’s bottom lip as Ryan tugs at his hair. His cheeks have taken on a red, ruddy tone, hair fallen into disarray from Ryan’s fingers and sweat beginning to bead on his brow. Coupled with his bare cock jutting through his gaping zip, Shane looks well and truly fucked, on the verge of falling apart, a sight Ryan is suddenly desperate to see.

“You gonna cum, big guy?” he rasps, nibbling at the soft, hot flesh of Shane’s lower lip. Shane nods helplessly, grunting as Ryan speeds up his strokes, fist moving effortlessly along the twitching, slippery length of his cock.

He feels it the moment Shane’s orgasm hits, the way his body stiffens and his cock jerks just before he starts to cum. He watches with hungry eyes as Shane’s mouth falls open on a broken moan, eyes slipping shut as he spills over Ryan’s fist and onto his stomach, and feels his own dick twitch at the sensation of warm wetness slicking his skin.

“Shane,” he whimpers, urgent and trembling with want as Shane’s hips jerk, pushing his spent cock through the ring of Ryan’s fingers once, twice more before he stills, breaths heavy and sweat-dampened strands of hair falling over his brow.

“Christ, Ry,” he breathes, voice wavering around a soft laugh as he reaches for Ryan’s face, thumbing at the curve of his cheekbone. “How the fuck are you even real?”

Ryan huffs a shaky laugh of his own, tilting his head into Shane’s callused palm and shifting his fingers through Shane’s messy hair. He feels like he’s about to rocket out of his skin, the sight of Shane soft and sated doing all sorts of wonderful and frankly devastating things to his heart, and the sight of his own stomach wet with the remnants of Shane’s release – a release that Ryan coaxed out of him, no less – only serves to wreck him more.

He swipes his fingers through the mess, abs jumping at even the touch of his own hand, so fucking keyed up from the sight of Shane twitching and falling apart, coming undone because of _him_. He’s barely lifted them to his mouth before Shane is wrapping a hand around his wrist, fingers still trembling with aftershocks, flicking his tongue out to lick the slick from Ryan’s skin before Ryan can utter a goddamn word.

Ryan’s stomach jumps. “Holy fuck, Shane,” he murmurs, voice thin as Shane’s mouth sinks down onto his fingers, swallowing them down to the root in soft, wet heat. His hips twitch, surging into the cradle of Shane's groin, and he hisses at the friction of his jeans against his aching cock.

Shane’s lips twitch around his fingers, the blunt edges of his teeth raking gently over Ryan’s skin as he eases away. Ryan clenches his eyes shut and sucks in a shallow breath, the image of the characters and tiny crown on his middle finger glistening with Shane’s saliva taking what’s left of his self-control and shattering it completely.

“What’s the matter, Ry-guy?” Shane asks, nosing at the bend of his jaw. Ryan can feel his smile, tucked against the curve of his cheek, and he huffs, ducking his head to catch Shane’s mouth in a kiss.

“Shut up, Shane,” he mumbles without heat, his own lips lifting in a smile as Shane grumbles against his lips.

“Rude.”

Ryan wheezes gently. “Sorry.”

“You are not,” Shane says definitively, and then shrugs. “But considering you just made me cum my brains out, I guess I can let it slide.”

Ryan grins, a fierce, proud slip of a smile that Shane takes one look at and laughs.

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up, Bergara. We’re all in awe of your skills.”

“As you should be,” Ryan replies, turning his nose up and adopting a snobby tone.

Shane narrows his eyes, a spark of mischief igniting in them before a wide palm dips between Ryan’s spread legs and squeezes gently at his bulge. “You were saying?” he murmurs coyly, smirking at Ryan’s strangled gasp.

“F-fuck you, Shane,” Ryan stutters, unable to resist rolling his hips into the pressure of Shane’s hand, light as it is.

“Hmm, we could do that,” Shane muses, abruptly frying whatever was left of Ryan’s brain and flooding it with half-formed images of Shane bouncing on his dick instead. “Or I could blow you.” He presses the heel of his palm into the base of Ryan’s cock, making him jerk and let out a reedy gasp. “If that’s, y’know, a thing you’d be into.”

Ryan nods jerkily, wrapping his fingers in Shane’s shirt and tugging him down into a kiss. “Yeah, yeah. That’s good. That’d be good.”

Shane laughs gently against his mouth. “Good.” He presses another kiss to Ryan’s lips, punctuating it with a flick of his tongue, and jerks his chin toward the bedroom. “Wanna move this to the bed?”

The thought of stretching out across his mattress, Shane’s weight pressing him down into the sheets, makes Ryan’s body thrum with want.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, kissing at the corner of Shane’s mouth before easing out from under him and rising from the couch. He reaches for the hem of his shirt as he twists around, rucking it up and over his head as he takes careful steps backwards toward his bedroom. “C’mon, big guy.”

“I wanted to do that,” Shane rasps, the weight of his gaze scorching down the length of Ryan’s torso, over the swell of his chest and down the flat line of his tummy until it can rest on the bulge of his cock, straining against the zip of his jeans.

Ryan laughs, a soft huff of breath as he twists, threading his belt through the loops and dropping it to the floor. “You can do the rest,” he promises, unzipping his jeans but leaving them on, his waistband dipping teasingly over the curves of his hips as he ducks into the bedroom.

Shane scrambles to follow him, his long legs eating up the distance between them in moments, and they fall to the bed in a tangle of limbs and grasping fingers, shedding clothes and casting them off the side of the mattress. Ryan’s more than a little thunderstruck by the sight of Shane’s nude body curled over him, skin pale and freckled along the tops of his shoulders and the vee of his hips, broad-chested and slender aside from the slight, soft swell of his stomach, hair ruffled and face eager and all of him flushed and desperately lovely.

He’s gratified that Shane seems to be in the same boat, his expression reverent as he eases Ryan’s jeans and underwear over his hips and free of his legs, cupping his thighs with those huge hands of his and drinking in the loose sprawl of Ryan’s body like he’s never seen anything better.

“Jesus, Ry,” he says, practically sighing the words as he strokes his palms over Ryan’s hips and along the soft skin beneath his navel, fingers dragging teasingly along his abs. “You really are a sight.” His eyes trace a heated trail along Ryan’s torso, over his arms, admiring the splashes of color and the elegant lines of his many tattoos.

“You, too,” Ryan murmurs, body heating at the praise, and it’s true. He wants to trace all of Shane’s freckles with the tips of his fingers and the curl of his tongue, wants to scratch through the dark, wiry hair at his groin and pet down the long, lean stretch of his thighs. Wants to cup the warmth of his chest between his hands and feel the rumble of his throat against his lips whenever Shane laughs or sighs or moans.

Shane huffs, a pleased, almost shy grin lifting his lips as he curls his hands around Ryan’s hips. His eyes catch on a splash of color along the curve of his left hipbone, and he makes a sound of surprise as he tilts his head – surprise which quickly turns to startled amusement as he realizes what he’s looking at. Ryan tenses. 

“Is that… a Paddington tattoo?” Shane’s voice wavers, dangerously close to laughter. Ryan remains silent, and Shane’s lips curl into a wide, delighted smile. “Oh, _Ryan_.”

"Hey,” Ryan blurts defensively, “You sing showtunes and Disney songs to your cat. We all have our little secrets."

Shane stares at him for a moment, dumbfounded, and then cracks right the fuck up, wheezing against the curve of Ryan's bare hip. “You are somethin’ else, Bergara,” he breathes, punctuating his words with a soft kiss to the center of the tattoo – lines of black and bursts of watercolor red in the shape of Paddington’s hat. Ryan flushes.

“Yeah, well,” he murmurs, pushing his fingers through Shane’s hair and shifting restlessly against the bed. “So are you.”

Shane smiles against his hip, the soft rasp of his stubble making Ryan shiver. “I try,” he admits quietly, and then finally, holy fuck, those long fingers are curling around Ryan’s cock, lifting the wet, leaking head from his belly, Shane’s head ducking down –

Ryan should probably be embarrassed about the high-pitched sound that just left his mouth, and in any other situation he would be, but he can’t be fucked to care about it now, not with Shane’s mouth sinking over the head of his cock, swallowing his aching flesh in hot, wet heat. Shane doesn’t tease, doesn’t play around, and Ryan kind of loves him for it, knowing that he won’t be able to last long anyway, not with how long he’s been waiting, aching. He’s already embarrassingly close and Shane’s barely been at it for longer than a minute, but fuck, who could blame him for losing it when he’s tucked into the heat of Shane’s mouth, cradled by the softness of his roving tongue.

“_Ungh_ \- “ he grunts, a wordless plea yanked from the depths of his throat as Shane’s tongue flicks against his glans, coaxing more precum from his leaking slit. He alternates between staring glassy-eyed and panting at the ceiling, body wracked with pleasure as Shane works him with lips, teeth, and tongue, to watching Shane sink down onto his cock, lashes fluttering against his high cheekbones and brows furrowed in concentration as he bobs his head along Ryan’s length. What he can’t take, Shane pumps within the sheath of his fist, and Ryan doesn’t know what drives him to desperate mewls more – the grasp of those long, calloused fingers or the soft, wet heat of Shane’s talented mouth. It’s a lost cause either way, though how there can be any losers in a situation like this is a thought better kept out of the bedroom, when Ryan has more than two braincells to rub together and can do more than grasp at Shane’s messy hair with trembling fingers and pant his name.

Shane doesn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, judging by the reemergence of that pleased, happy little hum – currently sending toe-curling vibrations up the length of Ryan’s dick – Shane’s more than content with Ryan’s blissed-out state, and seems determined to nudge Ryan over that perilous ledge into orgasm with every pump of his fist and curl of his tongue.

Ryan’s more than happy to give him exactly what he wants, and does so with a keen that borders on a wail as Shane’s other hand dips between his thighs, fingers drifting teasingly over his balls. He tries to warn Shane, scrabbling weakly at his shoulders and gasping his name, but Shane merely hums and keeps Ryan tucked within the heat of his mouth, pushing Ryan’s hips into the bed and swallowing every drop of cum spurting from his twitching length.

Ryan’s nothing but a shivering mess of boneless limbs and overheated flesh when Shane eases away, wiping at his mouth and dropping a last, wet kiss to Ryan’s navel that sends a shudder through Ryan’s wrung out body.

He flops down onto his back beside Ryan with a happy, sated sigh, stretching his long arms out over his head before dropping them to the bed. Ryan huffs an exasperated laugh at his antics, dragging himself up only long enough to plop himself against Shane’s side, cheek smushed into the warm, sweat-damp hollow of his throat.

“Yuck it up, Madej,” he pants, scratching idly through the trail of hair leading from Shane’s navel to the base of his cock, amused and more than a little turned on by the half-chub he’s already sporting, just from sucking Ryan off. “You deserve it.”

“We both deserve it,” Shane hums, curling his arm around Ryan’s shoulder and stroking lazy fingers along his wave tattoo. “Great date, great sex, great post-sex cuddle session. We’re scoring across all boards, baby!”

Ryan wheezes softly, warmed through by the familiar nickname and the new connotations it now holds. “Nowhere to go from here but up,” he murmurs sleepily, curling his arm around Shane’s waist and settling more fully against his side, too comfortable and warm to bother with maneuvering them both under the covers.

He feels more than sees Shane smile, the curl of his lips pressed against his brow as Shane ducks down to kiss his forehead, pushing sweaty curls off of his brow. “That’s right,” he says, and then, voice soft as a whisper and twice as tender, “Thanks for being brave, Ry.” He doesn’t have to say what for.

Ryan doesn’t bother to correct him, to say that it wasn’t bravery that had led him to push those blossoms through Shane’s hair, or kiss him, but pure, foolish want.

He just presses a clumsy kiss to Shane’s chest instead, and allows the steady rasp of his breathing to lull them both to sleep.

*

_Six months later_

“You sure about this, big guy?”

“Yep,” Shane answers, popping the ‘p’ and grinning as Ryan rolls his eyes. “Fire it up, baby. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Patience, _baby_,” Ryan cautions, tapping Shane’s wrist with a gloved finger. He takes in Shane’s tight grip over the arms of the chair and gentles his voice. “You know it’s okay to be nervous, right?”

Shane shoots him a look. “I’m not nervous,” he protests, rolling his shoulders against the back of the chair. “I’m... appropriately apprehensive.”

Ryan huffs a laugh. “You know we don’t have to do this, right?” He gestures to the stencil transferred onto Shane’s outer forearm, the tips of the design trailing down onto his wrist. “I can wash this off, we can go grab lunch – ”

“I want this, Ry.” Shane’s voice is quiet but resolute, his eyes clear behind the lenses of his glasses. “We talked about it, I asked all of my questions, I know what to expect. I’m good. Really.”

Ryan smiles, wishing for a moment that he hadn’t already slipped on gloves so he could cup Shane’s face and tug him down into a kiss. “Alright.” He reaches for a new needle, but before he can grab the package, Shane’s leaning forward.

“Wait!” He tilts his head, a coy little smile lifting the edges of his lips. “Kiss for luck? Y’know, before you start?”

Ryan rolls his eyes, even though he was just thinking the same thing, and carefully cranes his neck to catch Shane’s lips in a soft kiss.

“Gross,” Jen calls from the front counter, barely looking up from where she’s penciling something into the appointment book.

“Your smile says otherwise, Ruggirello!” Shane calls back, before stealing one last, quick kiss and settling back into the chair. “Alright, little king. I’m ready.”

Ryan loads up the tattoo gun with a fresh needle and applies a film of petroleum jelly to Shane’s arm, his movements easy and practiced. He can tell it reassures Shane, the surety that Ryan knows what he’s doing and is damn good at it, and there’s a proud edge to the concentrated curl of his lips as he settles against Shane’s side with the tattoo gun poised over his skin.

“Remember to breathe,” he reminds Shane. “Talk to me, if it helps.”

“About anything?” Shane quips, a nervous edge to his smile.

Ryan smiles. “Anything.”

Shane takes a breath, squares his shoulders. Ryan waits, patient, until Shane catches his eye and nods.

The tattoo machine hums to life.

Shane’s breath hitches at the first touch of the needle to his skin, but he doesn’t tense up, doesn’t twitch or jerk away, and Ryan is abruptly, immeasurably proud of him.

“You’re doin’ great, big guy,” he says, eyes trained on Shane’s wrist and the base of the stem slowly taking shape there.

“Yeah?” Shane grits, discomfort clear in his voice. Ryan knows the feeling, can still remember the shock of his first tattoo and the new and startling sensations that came along with it.

“You bet. Just keep breathing.” He wipes some excess ink from Shane’s skin with clean tissue paper before he continues, the stem blooming into a long, curling shoot that stretches along Shane’s forearm. “Talk to me about this weekend. Are your parents excited?”

Shane scoffs, though the sound carries more fondness than anything. “About seeing you, you mean? Ryan, they’re this close to adopting you and they haven’t even met you yet!”

“You’re exaggerating,” Ryan says, but that doesn’t stop the grin from spreading over his face.

“My mom has already called to ask about your favorite foods and where you’d like to go and whether she needs to quarantine the cat so it won’t mess with your allergies – believe me, Ry, she already loves you.”

Ryan’s glad he’s got his head ducked over Shane’s arm, patiently outlining the first of two leaves bursting from the stem. Otherwise the sentiment plastered over his face would be obvious for the world to see.

He’s only spoken to Shane’s parents a handful of times and been drawn into a FaceTime session with them once, but he already adores the pair of them and wants desperately to make a good first impression when he finally meets them face-to-face. Spending a weekend with Shane in his childhood home feels like such a huge step, like a statement being made, a line being crossed, and Ryan – well, he wants things to go well, is all.

“Really, bud,” Shane says softly, as if reading his thoughts. “You’ve already been christened an honorary member of clan Madej, believe me.”

“I believe you,” Ryan murmurs, moving on to the second leaf after clearing away more run-off ink. “What did they think about this?”

“Me getting a tattoo?” Shane laughs. “You know what, I don’t think they really expected me to go through with it. They’ll be surprised.”

“They won’t think I’m a bad influence?” Ryan jokes.

“Please. They know you make me happy and that’s all that matters.”

It still shocks Ryan, that Shane can just _say_ shit like that so casually, but the thing is, he can tell it shocks Shane, too, just by the silence that filters between them after his words fade into the familiar cacophony of the parlor. A quick glance up at his face confirms Ryan’s suspicions – Shane’s staring awkwardly off to the side, as though arrested by the sight of the early afternoon sunlight spilling through the front windows. Ryan shakes his head, endearment a warm weight in his chest, and ducks his head again.

“Right back atcha, big guy,” he says softly.

The sky is just beginning to darken with faint hues of red and purple by the time Ryan finally eases out of his hunched position and deposits the last needle in the disposal bin. His shoulders and back ache with a familiar soreness that he’ll have to work out later, preferably with Shane’s sinfully talented fingers digging into his skin and working out the knots, but any discomfort he’s feeling fades into the background as he takes in the finished product of Shane’s tattoo.

Arching along his forearm with the base of the stem curling at his wrist, the lily of the valley stands out starkly against Shane’s pale skin, and though he’s just spent the past couple of hours watching the design unfold beneath his own hand, Ryan’s breath still catches at the elegant curves of the two jade leaves, coupled with the white, bell-like blossoms bursting along the stem.

“What do you think?” he asks, nervous for the first time since he’d sat down with stencil in hand to prepare Shane for the process.

Shane doesn’t answer him at first, his eyes focused on the tender stretch of forearm adorned with the delicate bulbs and curling leaves of the lily. Ryan’s seen that look before, remembers it fondly from the first time he’d tugged Shane into a kiss and another thousand moments since. It’s a stunned mix of adoration and surprise, the only time when all of Shane’s witty little quips and coy jokes fail him. Ryan’s immediately comforted by that look, knowing without words that Shane is happy with his work.

“It’s beautiful, Ry.” The words come on the tail-end of a soft breath, Shane’s eyes flicking from Ryan to his arm and back again, as if he can’t tear them away from his tattoo. Ryan’s seen that look, too – the look of a client enamored with his work, and it makes him grin.

“It really is, Ryan,” Jen pipes up, peering over his shoulder, her hands curled around two coffee mugs. “For my beautiful boys,” she says with a wink, depositing them on the table well out of reach of any stray ink caps. “Think you’ll add to it someday?” she asks Shane with a knowing lilt.

Shane huffs a laugh, patiently still as Ryan cleans his tattoo and adds a layer of ointment in preparation for the bandage. “Ask me in a year,” he says, wincing a bit as he works the soreness out of his fingers, having spent the bulk of the session with them curled tightly around the arms of the chair. “What d’ya say, Ryan? Another flower, maybe? Add one every year?”

It’s said flippantly, but there’s nothing but sincerity on Shane’s face as Ryan bandages his tattoo. _I’m joking_, the curl of his little Cheshire grin says, but the warm, earnest crinkle of his eyes says something else.

Ryan imagines it, Shane in his chair every year, his arm slowly filling up with lustrous blooms and grasping vines, color bursting in vibrant hues along his pale skin. It’s a good thought, one that fills him with a fierce, aching contentment, with _hope_, and he reaches for Shane’s face as soon as he slips the gloves from his hands, eager to share that happiness in the only way he knows how.

“Sounds like a plan, big guy,” he murmurs, an affirmation and a promise all in one, and seals it with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge, huge thank you to bellairestrella and sequencefairy for giving this behemoth a look over, and for bodhirookes for not only helping me work out plot details but for allowing me to gush about this au for weeks and for leaving comments that I will continue to cherish for years to come ❤ Thanks also to falling-into-vacancies, mephsation, and the folks on the writer’s discord for helping me brainstorm tattoo ideas. And of course, thank you to poetdameron for hosting this exchange for another round! You’re all gems, every one of you!


End file.
